Understanding That Reference
by Carrieosity
Summary: Castiel loves working in the library, except for the boring parts. When a string of complicated and entertaining questions begin to flow into his email box, courtesy of the "Ask-A-Librarian" reference service, he finds his boredom vanishing and being replaced with an increasing curiosity to learn who's behind them.
1. Chapter 1

For the most part, being a librarian is never dull, which was exactly why Castiel loved his job. He was passionate about developing the collection, making sure to include a balanced, unbiased selection of materials. He adored assisting patrons with the discovery of new books and media, particularly relishing the sight of a young person's nose firmly buried in a new favorite. Unlike many of his colleagues, he thrived in tricky reference situations; elderly patrons seeking childhood stories using only the few shreds of plot in their memories ("It had a little stove, and I think maybe it was magical?") made him grin and embrace the challenge with fervor. Castiel had relished his years as a student, and had especially enjoyed the research aspects of academia (much to the mocking disdain of his less academically-inclined siblings), so searching out and presenting elusive sources of information to frustrated library users warmed his chest with a clear sense of fulfillment.

Yes, for the most part, being a librarian was everything Castiel had ever dreamed it would be. But then there was the rest of the time, when ninety percent of his responsibilities were fielding the same three questions, over and over:

 _"How do I print from these computers?"_

 _"Could you help me with the copy machine?"_

 _"Can I renew my books?"_

Castiel slumped over his desk, propping his chin in his hand. Monday nights were the worst, really. School projects were usually due on either Friday afternoons or Monday mornings, so there weren't very many students needing research advice. Most of the library programs were on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so there wasn't the crowd draw that an author visit or a poetry reading might offer. Daytimes were when young mothers would bring in their children to grab books and movies, but they disappeared before dinner time, leaving Castiel with only a small group of older patrons browsing the shelves and a few teenagers surfing the internet, and he was down to his usual three soul-sucking exchanges.

 _"Can I print from these computers?"_

 _"I need some help with the copy machine."_

 _"Where do I renew my books?"_

Puffing out a sigh, Castiel fruitlessly refreshed his email inbox for the hundredth time. _Bored, bored, bored._ In an effort to serve people who couldn't physically come to the library, technical services had recently added an "Ask-a-Librarian" box to the library web page, sending reference questions directly to Castiel via his email. People could even text him their questions, a feature that the board members had gushed over. Initially, Castiel had fantasized that the new service would allow him to provide skilled research assistance for scholars and professionals in tight spots. _I need a medical journal from the 1960s, one with an article by Dr. Brachs, concerning treatments for lung disease_ , they might cry – well, type, and Castiel would be off to the rescue.

In actuality, the few questions he received were most often from teenagers who were quite blatantly trying to get him to do their homework for them. One email had literally asked, " _At 25 MPH, it will take you about _ feet to stop your car A. 25 B. 62 C. 144_ ," after which Castiel had asked that the web page be amended to clarify that while homework assistance was provided, the actual work would be left to the student.

And then there were the prank questions. Those were best erased from mind as quickly as possible.

Hitting refresh again, without much optimism, Castiel saw a new email appear. Opening it, he read, " _If Kansas's and Nebraska's state birds raced at top speed, who would win? I'm in a hurry._ "

He stared at the message for a moment before a giggle burst from him unbidden. What on earth? Was this patron involved in a bird rivalry with the neighboring state? Were actual birds involved? He decided that not knowing made the situation more amusing.

A little investigation brought Castiel his answer, and he responded, "Kansas's robin, which flies at around 20-32mph, would sadly lose to Nebraska's Western meadowlark, which flies at 40mph ( _Flight Speed of Birds_ , Cooke, 1937)." Hitting send, he smiled and hoped that whatever hurry the patron was in was satisfied by the speed of his answer.

Within a few minutes, his inbox pinged once more. " _You are a lifesaver._ " His smile grew.

* * *

"Dean, that's cheating," Charlie chastised from her perch on the couch behind him.

"It is not," Dean huffed, using his laptop to retype the emailed answer into the radio station's web form. "They know people are going to have to look up most of this stuff, not just know it out of their heads. That's why they're giving questions that are hard to just Google, and they're only letting the fastest twenty responders in the running."

"But you're _not_ looking that up. A librarian is not just a search engine! They can, like, intuit and rephrase your question to figure out the best solution."

"I know. Why do you think I asked one?" He smirked and hit submit. "There! That ought to do it."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "You and trivia contests, dude. You could just _buy_ your movie tickets like the rest of us."

"It's the principle of the thing," Dean said, leaning back onto the sofa next to Charlie. "I mean, it's like free pie. Pie's good, but free pie? Better. And this is more than just free – it's pie I earned."

"Pie the _librarian_ earned."

"She only answered one of the questions for me, Charlie. I did the others. Hey, if it makes you feel better, if I win, I'll take her some movie concession candy. Nothing chewy, though; she might have dentures."

"You're terrible," she scolded, whapping him with a pillow. "You think all librarians are seventy-year-old grandmas in bifocals. I'll have you know that there are plenty of younger people graduating from library school every day, with tattoos of their favorite Dewey Decimal numbers around their arms."

Dean just snorted, grabbing the remote and scrolling through the Netflix menu on the television. He saw no need to mention that the image of Hot Librarian featured heavily in his Personal Dean Time fantasies. All that library seriousness would channel itself into some pretty passionate sex, he could just feel. The idea of being pushed back into the quietest corner, surrounded by tall bookshelves, and being told to "hush" as stern eyes peered into his own…before hands, lips, and body did everything they could to make him do just the opposite. God, he wanted to whimper just thinking about it.

 _Stop confusing real life with porn again_ , he told himself before he managed to embarrass himself in front of his best friend. No kinky librarians in Lawrence, or at least none that he knew. Admittedly, he hadn't actually been in the building since middle school, but the librarian then had been a tired-looking senior citizen, nodding off in her chair. His fantasy would just have to remain one, he guessed. But that didn't mean he couldn't keep enjoying it.

* * *

A week passed, with library story times, a screening of _Milk_ as part of Gay Pride Month programming, and a moderately successful board game night held over the weekend. Monday rolled around, and Castiel found himself once more recovering from the flurry of activity, yet wishing it could continue. Making handprint crafts with toddlers (okay, so he didn't make the actual crafts; he merely watched while his fantastic youth librarian coworker Linda led the group) might not be stimulating intellectual activity, but it beat demonstrating the functionality of the copier yet another time.

His email pinged. " _What's the oldest residential house in Lawrence? Does the library have pictures? I need to count how many windows._ " Raising an eyebrow, Castiel quickly confirmed his suspicion: this intriguing question came from the same email address as the one who'd asked about bird races. Apparently, the sender was a person of many and varied interests, he chuckled.

The local history room quickly divulged the needed information, which he sent flying to the questioner. Part of him, thankful for the reprieve from mental drudgery, hoped that this would be a continuing occurrence. "Come on, you can challenge me harder than that," he murmured. "We're just getting started."

The email pinged, as if it heard him. " _Super Librarian! You saved me again._ " The compliment made him blush.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ma'am, I can give you a variety of books and articles about odds and statistics, and I can provide you lists of information about past winners. We even have several board games here, and if you come in, I can give you some dice to roll, if you so choose. I unfortunately cannot, however, give you the winning lottery numbers for tomorrow. Now, is there some other way I can assist you tonight?" The woman on the other end of the phone squawked unhappily and disconnected, while Castiel closed his eyes and sighed with a mix of relief and disappointment. However irrational the demands, he strongly disliked leaving a patron unsatisfied.

"Long day at the office, dear?"

 _Well, it just got longer_ , Castiel resisted responding as he lifted his head to face the man standing on the other side of the desk. "Just a woman thinking I keep a crystal ball in the Ready Reference section. Nothing too unusual there. What do you need, Gabriel? I'd point you toward the picture books, but you got the pages all stuck together with candy last time I did that."

"There's that sparkling customer service that earns you the big bucks," Gabriel said with a grin, unoffended in the least. "Can't I just stop in to say hello to my baby brother? Doesn't look as though I'm interrupting much. Did I just miss the rush?"

"Oh, definitely. I must have helped at least two whole patrons print their resumes in the last hour alone. Quite the flurry of activity for a Monday."

"Then you need a break. Put up your 'away from the desk' sign and let's grab some coffee. Lattés on me." Despite Castiel's accusation of picture book carelessness, Gabriel actually did try to respect his brother's rules concerning food and drinks around his precious collection.

"Sounds wonderful, actually, but…" Castiel hesitated, glancing at his computer. There had been no questions in his email yet tonight, and he was reluctant to risk missing a message's arrival.

Several weeks had passed since he had received the question about racing state birds, during which time he had come to rely on the regular messages as sanity preservers. The sender, whom Castiel had come to think of as "Impala" from the first part of his email address, had established a routine of submitting at least one and as many as three queries each Monday night. They spanned topics from literature (" _How many Kansas natives have made it onto the NYT bestseller's list in the last five years?_ ") to science ( _"Mount Sunflower is the highest mountain in KS, right? I need to know how much shorter it is than NE's tallest (Panorama Point?)_ ") to pop culture (" _How many Seinfeld regulars guested on Sesame Street?_ "). Each question made Castiel think a moment before jumping to the book or database he thought most appropriate, and he often found himself including addendums and clarifications with his answers (" _Panorama Point is not technically a mountain; the highest of those in Nebraska is Hogback_ "). He snickered when answering a query about how many of Mel Blanc's character voices had been mammals, asking, " _Are we considering The Demon of Insincerity from 'The Phantom Tollbooth' to be mammalian?_ " Several of the questions seemed particularly designed to be misleading, but he thought he was doing a good job avoiding any traps.

On several occasions, Impala had reiterated the need for swift answers. Castiel didn't want to disappoint in that regard.

"But what?" Gabriel prompted with a quirked eyebrow. "Reluctant to step away from all this stimulating action? I promise, the books will be just fine without Daddy for a few minutes."

"No, it's not that. It's just that…well, there's this patron who usually needs my help on Monday nights, and I haven't heard from them yet."

Gabriel turned around to examine the room. "Only got about an hour before shutting up shop. If they're not here, maybe they're not coming."

"They don't come in. They email me with their questions."

"Okay, ignoring for the moment that we've just decided to roll with gender-neutral pronouns, which I suppose makes sense if you never actually see this…person," Gabriel said, "I doubt that whatever questions they might have on a regular weekly basis can be all that pressing. They're not some secret agent, needing your consistent help in preventing Monday night Armageddons, are they? Library questions, as a rule, are usually pretty non-life-threatening."

Castiel found himself slightly grouchy, not wanting to explain his compulsion to wait. Maybe he was a little embarrassed about it himself. It wasn't as though he was incapable of entertaining himself, but he was becoming slowly aware that there was another factor influencing his enthusiasm. It was hard to deny that library work was frequently a thankless job. So much of his effort was behind the scenes, exactly like that stale motivational imagery of the duck gliding smoothly over the water, paddling like mad underneath where no one would see. The gratitude he received tended to be sparse, a matter of social conditioning rather than intention. Impala (Castiel was starting to feel silly imagining a cheerful antelope pecking away at a keyboard, but he entertained himself with the thought anyway) always made him feel valued, giving him the sort of approval he hadn't felt in years. He basked in the appreciation, sometimes carrying the glow all night when the compliments were particularly effusive. _Fuck it_ , he admitted. _I'm a praise junkie, and I need my hit._

Instead of confessing that admission to his brother, though, he hid behind the shield of Stern Professionalism. The tactic usually inspired fraternal teasing, but it should at least divert him from topics that were more sensitive. "I take my role very seriously, Gabriel. Kuhlthau's research regarding information seeking and the role of mediated assistance –"

"Nope, already heard that one," Gabriel interrupted. "Pretty sure, anyway. I'm onto you, kiddo. You only throw that academic bullshit at me when you don't _want_ me to understand what you're talking about. Since I'm almost positive you're not trying to drag me onto the 'Woo, libraries!' bandwagon this time, that means you're steering me away from something else. So, this Question Girl. Or Guy. Do we know which?"

"No, we don't." It was pointless. Once his brother stopped bantering and got to the point with his prying, there was no chance of stopping him before his curiosity was satisfied. "And it doesn't matter. The questions come, and they're _good_ questions, and I like answering them."

"Like Jeopardy? Are you somebody's 'Phone-a-Friend,' little brother?" Gabriel's smile showed that this, at least, was something he could possibly understand and support.

"I suppose 'Ask-a-Librarian' is similar in concept. More professional, less 'friend,' but yes."

"Not feeling friendly? Are they at least cutting you in on the prize money, then?" Without invitation, Gabriel moved behind the desk, perching on a vacant stool beside Castiel. Professionalism was something designed for other people, he had always demonstrated.

"There's no prize," Castiel said, though an idea crossed his mind. These questions did rather resemble game show questions. Was he helping a contestant cheat? He decided he didn't really care. "I do it because it's my job."

"Your job allows breaks, but you're skipping them. This is more. No money, no personal connection. You're devoted, but I didn't peg you for self-sacrificing."

"It's a cup of coffee, not my soul, Gabriel."

"Whatever. I want to know –"

 _Ping_.

The sound of his email alert immediately distracted Castiel from anything his brother was saying. Opening the message, he read, " _Later than usual, sorry. I just need to know what drink recipe Hemingway made up for an old book of cocktails in the 1930s. Need the recipe, too. Can you text me back the answer this time? Working tonight. 237-3022_."

"Death in the Afternoon," Gabriel immediately said, reading over Castiel's shoulder. At the raised eyebrow from his younger brother, he shrugged. "What? I know my liquor. It's a good drink, a jigger of absinthe plus iced champagne until it goes milky and swirly. Much better than the one Theodore Dreiser made up, which includes nitroglycerin and ground gunpowder. I mean, not that I've tasted it, but I'd assume."

"You actually own that book, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"I read!"

Castiel snorted, but he quickly verified Gabriel's answer (a youth spent trusting him "just this once" had shaped him into a more cynical adult) and pulled out his phone to send the response and citation. A small thrill went through him as he saved the new phone number under the name "Impala." That was probably inappropriate, but given that the board had allowed for the possibility of patron texting, and that by now Impala had sent him almost as many questions as had all of his other virtual patrons combined, he decided it wasn't so unprofessional, really. Practically dutiful. It might even save response time in the future, which was all part of the job.

* * *

Dean stood behind the bar, swiping the counter lazily as he waited for his phone to chime. Mondays were always slow nights at the Roadhouse, with only the dedicated drinkers and the quietly lonely regulars riding the stools. Tips were not worth mentioning, which was another reason why he was glad that he so rarely had to work then. Ash was sick, though (more likely hungover), and Jo was out on a date and couldn't cover for him, so that meant Dean was left to handle the sparse crowd.

Luckily for him, a slow night meant that he didn't need to surrender his now established Monday night trivia habit. He wasn't exactly sure when it had happened, but at some point he had stopped thinking about the "free pie" competition aspect of the game and had begun to simply enjoy the game itself. He was getting better at finding most of the answers on his own, but for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he always left at least one question for his librarian to field.

Yes, _his_ librarian, if only in Dean's head.

There was a weirdly heady anticipation in the minutes after sending off each question, and if he had noticed that he was usually saving the most oddball and potentially entertaining questions for his librarian, he rationalized it as a way to let them have some of the fun, too. Dean was sure by now that his librarian _was_ having fun; the responses were increasingly friendly and gently teasing when they would arrive after an impressively brief wait. There was still professionalism conveyed in the answers ( _No, don't think about horn-rimmed glasses and a quietly commanding voice; you're at work right now!_ ), but if these had been exchanges with somebody he knew on a personal level…well. Dean Winchester knew flirting when he saw it. And did it.

But this wasn't personal. His librarian was a fantasy, not real. If Dean was pushing the boundaries a bit into the realms of familiarity, he was at least fairly confident that his librarian was only providing good customer service.

So when his phone chimed with an ingredient list for Hemingway's cocktail, he didn't really think too hard about his text back.

" _You are amazing. You're like the super-efficient Pepper Potts to my Tony! Okay if I call you Pepper?_ " A few of their conversations had fed Dean small bits of information that led him to believe that perhaps his librarian was not the octogenarian he had originally thought, or that if she was, she was one tech-savvy, pop-culture-literate old girl. Iron Man trivia was practically low-ball, he thought, copying and pasting the drink recipe into his browser window.

* * *

" _Pepper?_ He's calling you Pepper Potts!" Gabriel was practically on the floor with laughter. "This is the best! I've never been so happy to have come to a library in my life!" Other patrons were turning to see what has happening, and Castiel was nearly crimson with embarrassment.

It had been meant as a compliment, he could see if he viewed it objectively. Impala was praising his competence and speed, and that was as pleasant as always. On the other hand, while Castiel now knew that Impala at least identified as male himself, he had also succumbed to the stereotypical assumption that librarians were naturally female, a typecasting that Castiel had always found infuriating. He had put up with raised eyebrows from strangers in the past, regardless of how his classes in library school had almost always been a balanced mix of men and women. On the occasions where he had filled in for youth librarian Linda at story times, the surprise from the parents was even more apparent, even if it was followed by a strange approval, as though he was doing something beyond the call of duty by reading "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" sans uterus.

His irritation and disappointment in his favorite patron was stoked by the sight of Gabriel wiping away actual tears in his mirth, and he couldn't help himself as he clicked into the dialogue box on his phone. " _Although I have never had any problem wearing a skirt, I believe the library board would prefer I maintain my usual waistcoat and pants. Perhaps Jarvis would be a better nickname._ "

The moment he hit send, he regretted having been goaded into reaction. _Oh, my God, I just crossed that line with a patron, talking about cross-dressing_. If his cheeks had flamed before, now they were an inferno. _What did I do?_

* * *

Across town, behind the bar, Dean Winchester's brain short-circuited, and he dropped the glass he'd been holding. It fell to the floor with a smash.


	3. Chapter 3

"Dude, of course librarians can be guys! Haven't you ever watched 'Buffy'?" Charlie rolled her eyes at Dean, who was flopped facedown on his couch in the morning exhaustion that followed late shifts. He'd felt irrationally off-kilter all night after that last text from his librarian (" _Jarvis,_ " his brain helpfully reminded him) and had been unable to mutter much more than "Library guy is a guy" to explain his mood when Charlie showed up the following morning with coffee. He now glared balefully at her.

"Of course I know librarians can be men! I just...didn't think we had any here." Dean's preconceptions had now been forced to make the shift from little old lady to young woman, and then to a man probably not far from his own age, and it was this final shift that was almost too much for his brain to manage. In the moments following the message's arrival, his mind had immediately taken all of his well-visited librarian porn dreams and altered them to include tailored suits in place of pearls and heels, five o'clock shadows rather than crimson lipstick, and a pair of large strong hands gripping his shoulders and pulling him back into a darkened study room…

Yeah, he was officially screwed.

He had freely embraced the fact that he was attracted to both men and women almost from the time that he had started dating. Being openly bisexual meant having a pool of potential partners twice as wide as he'd have if he closeted himself, he laughed, so why hide what he wanted? Happily for Dean, his school and community had been tightly knit enough that almost everybody knew everybody, and he was able to avoid any coming-out harassment by resting behind the shield of the cocky, confident reputation he'd crafted for himself. Only his closest friends and family were ever allowed to see inside that armor to the complex man beneath, the one full of self-doubts, hidden insecurities, and the suspicion that he was ninety percent bullshit but was masking it well with a wink and a grin. Only his dad had given him any grief the first time he'd dated another guy, and that only lasted until his mom decided that homophobes could very well sleep on the couch.

No, Dean was no stranger to dating or being sexual with men, but there was a big difference between kissing the guy you met at the gym and even _thinking_ about kissing a fully realized, in-the-sexy-flesh, fantasy he'd kept in his spank bank for years. Add in the strong indication that said fantasy was perhaps a bit kinky in his own right (Dean tried hard not to imagine what his librarian had worn _under_ the skirt), and the scene was far more than he felt equipped to handle.

"I don't see why it matters, anyway," Charlie was saying. "I mean, so it's a male librarian helping you with trivia contests. Does it matter? Like you said, you're just using him as a search engine with a better brain."

"Well, yeah. I mean, it _doesn't_ matter," he said with an uncomfortable shrug. "Except I think maybe I pissed him off a little. You know, when I basically called him a girl." He groaned and gestured toward his phone, lying on the table. Charlie picked it up and glanced at the text history, open on the screen.

"Pepper Potts?" she snorted. "Were you trying to win a contest or just flirt?" She didn't wait for an answer, knowing well that Dean flirted as naturally as breathing. "But I don't think he sounds all that pissed. He sounds a bit sassy, confident and comfortable with himself, a bit down on prescribed gender roles – the kind of librarian I can get behind. Rock on, Mr. Book Man," she said with an approving nod. "I should see if my library card still works."

"I don't know. It reads different from his other messages. Maybe I'm just reading too much into it and feeling stupid for assuming. God, why did I do that?"

"So you're worried you've lost your meal ticket for the trivia games? You think he'd cut you off because you made him mad?"

Dean shook his head. "No. He wouldn't do that." Without really knowing the librarian, he just had a gut feeling that he was too professional and nice to do something like that. "But that's not really the point, anyway. I came off like a sexist jerk, and that's not me." It bothered him deeply, beyond any sexual feelings he might be entertaining, to think that his librarian might have written him off that way. Dean hated hurting people, and he really couldn't stand the idea that he might somehow have disappointed a man who had seemed so perfectly impressive in all their interactions.

"Aw, you care about his feelings. Dean Winchester, do you have a crush on the librarian?" Charlie grinned widely, but her expression was sympathetic. She knew better than to tease when Dean was feeling sensitive. It was why he felt comfortable opening up to her when, for anybody else, he'd deflect with a wisecrack. Dean didn't really want to answer her question, but his silence was enough of a response. "You could just apologize to him. Tell him you were being dumb but that you know better. And do it soon. If you wait, you'll look like you're just saying sorry so he'll help you with your next round of questions."

He knew she was right, even if it meant revisiting the awkward conversation instead of just crawling into a hole and trying to forget. "Thanks, Charlie. I'll toughen up and tell him I suck."

"Phrase it like that, and maybe you'll get to see that skirt he mentioned."

"Charlie!" He flushed red, and she ducked, giggling, to avoid the throw pillow she knew would fly her way.

* * *

Castiel was not having a good day. Someone had dropped a partially full bottle of water into the book return, and it had leaked all over a dozen books. The library was full of the sounds of shrieking children, courtesy of the visit from a zookeeper, who'd brought a selection of creepy, crawly, scaly things that Castiel would just as soon avoid seeing in secure glass cases, let alone in the open area by the paperback spinners. Most of all, though, he was fretting over what he'd texted the night before.

Once he'd left behind his full-blown panic, he tried to look at it rationally. One of three things was likely to happen. Most probably, Impala would have been offended so much by the exceedingly improper message that Castiel would never hear from him again. At worst, the message would reach his director, and Castiel would find himself in the position of explaining to his board why he had felt it necessary to tell a patron how he was no stranger to women's clothing. The best scenario, the one for which he knew better than to hope but could not help himself, was that they could just try to pretend that nothing uncomfortable had transpired and go back to their usual routine of questions and answers. _I've never had good luck; no reason to think it'll start now,_ he mused sadly.

The zookeeper waved at Castiel from across the room. He waved back without thinking. The zookeeper waved harder, and Castiel waded his way through the crowd seated on the floor to reach him. "Do you need me to get you something?" he said, trying to bring his thoughts back to the present situation.

"Yes, Mr. Librarian. I need you to give me…your shoulders!" And with that, the beaming zookeeper lifted a large snake from a cooler and began to drape it over Castiel's back. "Don't worry! She's very friendly! She _loves_ librarians!"

As the children squealed, Castiel stood in frozen terror, grimacing in the best approximation of a smile that he could force, and reflected on how life had amazing ways of demonstrating that things could always be worse.

After the zookeeper had packed away his last creature and waved farewell, Castiel reached into his pocket for his phone, which had vibrated while he was wearing the python as a scarf. (The initial horrific thought that the snake had crawled into his pants pocket to cause the humming sensation had nearly made him start keening in hysteria.) A text message from Impala waited for him.

 _"I just wanted to say I'm sorry for just assuming you were a woman last night. Guess I've never actually had a guy librarian, but that's no excuse. I definitely know better. You're a kick-ass librarian, man or woman."_

Well. Of all the outcomes that might have developed, seeing Impala take responsibility for the confusion was unexpected. He read the message again, and then a third time, before he could properly process what he was seeing. Palpable relief washed through him, and he felt his neck begin to unknot for the first time in almost twenty-four hours. Released from the tension that had gripped him, he swiftly typed a response.

 _"Please accept my apology in return. You are far from the first person to make gender assumptions about my profession, and I allowed my irritation to find voice in an embarrassingly unprofessional outburst. Know truly that I am not upset with you, and I hope that you will not judge my reaction too harshly._ "

After sending the text, Castiel closed his eyes and breathed slowly, hoping his apology would be received as well as he intended it. His phone promptly buzzed again.

 _"Man, no judgment here. You had every right to put me in my place, and I can take the hit when I'm in the wrong. No need to feel embarrassed at all_."

Castiel smiled as his shoulders eased even further. He had not realized just how upset he would have been to lose this connection. Corresponding with Impala had become one of Castiel's favorite aspects of his job – perhaps one of his favorite activities, period. Since leaving school, he had developed so few friendships, at least beyond the sort of light but cordial associations he had with coworkers and a couple of neighbors. He replied, " _Thank you for saying so. I usually control myself better than that, but I'm glad my outburst didn't cause you any discomfort._ "

A pause, and then another message came through with a buzz. " _If you're still feeling embarrassed, maybe I should even us up by telling you something embarrassing about me?_ "

" _There's really no need to do that._ "

" _When I was in high school, my friend Charlie choreographed a lip-sync version of Lady Marmalade for a talent show, only one girl got mono before the show. I let Charlie put me on stage in a huge wig, a bucket of makeup, and a feather boa so big nobody could even recognize me. Top that, Jarvis._ "

Castiel burst into laughter. He really did feel better now. " _I'm not sure that counts; you managed to tell a painful story that also paints you as a good and loyal friend. And my actual name is Castiel, if you like._ "

" _Well, I'm not a complete martyr. ;) I'm Dean, and since you sound happier, my work is done_."

* * *

After that conversation, things returned to normal between Dean and Castiel, if a bit more relaxed. Dean still sent his Monday night questions, and Castiel responded quickly and skillfully. Dean found himself relaxed enough to keep up his playful praise, which Castiel seemed to enjoy a great deal. His gratitude for Dean's gratitude began to foster some sort of weird cycle of "No, thank _you_ " messagesthat might have continued indefinitely if the library didn't need to close at night.

He really was flirting, Dean realized. But Castiel was no longer just his old fantasy. He had a name, he had a great personality, and Dean actually _liked_ him. He had started to think of him as a potential friend, even if there was a layer of sexual subtext in his head whenever he read one of Castiel's messages. Dean still couldn't help where his mind went when he allowed himself to imagine actually meeting his librarian…

 _"Shhhhh," Castiel said, finger pressed to lips as his voice lowered dangerously. "We need to be quiet in the library, Dean. Do you think you can be quiet for me?" His features were indistinct in shadow, but Dean felt pierced by the gaze he couldn't quite discern._

 _"Yes," he gasped, lost in the feeling of the other man's hips rolling against his own, pressing his back into the bookshelf. He could be quiet, he_ wanted _to be quiet. He wanted to please Castiel. The librarian raised an eyebrow and quirked his lips into a small, predatory smirk. He lowered his head and fastened his mouth to the base of Dean's throat, fingers moving to unbutton Dean's shirt and push it from his shoulders. Dean gasped, and Castiel lightly bit at him to remind him of his promise._

 _Dean drove his teeth into his lip, struggling to keep his sounds from escaping. He grabbed at the back of Castiel's waistcoat, fingers scrabbling for grip on the smooth fabric. He pushed his thigh between the librarian's legs, increasing the friction between them as his cock drove into Castiel's hip. Feeling the answering hardness sliding so close to his own, he felt his breath catch in his throat. This couldn't last long._

 _Castiel's mouth traveled across Dean's clavicle, stopping to mark him with a sucking bite along his shoulder. "So good," he murmured, hands now dropping to Dean's belt, unbuckling and unbuttoning and seeking inside. His fist closed around Dean's cock, and Dean tried not to cry out -_

"Hey, Dean!" The sound of his brother's voice crashed through his fantasy like a sledgehammer. "Open the door! My hands are full and I can't get the doorbell!"

Dean scrambled up from the sofa, running a hand over his face and trying to regain composure. Thankfully, his baby brother's shouting had a quick negative effect on certain other areas that might have betrayed his thoughts, though he took longer getting to the door than he might have otherwise.

"Took you long enough, man," Sam huffed. "Third degree burns on my hands, but, sure, you go ahead and take your time. No rush." He quickly dropped the pizza box on the counter, taking more care with the placement of the six-pack of beer. "I haven't seen you in weeks! Knew you were off work tonight, so I brought dinner. So what's going on with you?"

"Not a whole lot," said Dean, grabbing a slice of pizza and drink. "Picked up some extra shifts, but nothing new. You?"

"Busy here, too." Sam's work as a newspaper editor kept him busier than Dean wished, making these evenings rare treats instead of the frequent occurrences he would have preferred. Sam loved his job, though. He happily ran down the list of all the interesting stories he'd been researching lately, making sure to emphasize the quirky ones he knew Dean enjoyed most. Political intrigue might carry the front page, but Dean preferred following the stories about joggers stumbling across mummified corpses, or strange animal sightings in the public park.

"By the way, here's your Sunday paper. Don't say I never give you anything," Sam said, handing over the extra paper he always kept for his brother. "Check out the hysterical picture our lifestyle reporter took, page 2C. Never seen such polite disgust in my life."

Dean flipped to the page and snickered at the sight of a suited man, eyes wide as they could go, his obviously forced smile a rictus of fear over the enormous snake draped over his shoulders. He stood next to a pleased-looking zookeeper, and Dean couldn't stop his chuckles, even as he sympathized with the guy, who looked like he would rather have been anywhere else. Beyond the terrified expression, he was an extraordinarily handsome man, and if Dean's mind appreciated the unintentional snake/phallic imagery, well, he could hardly be blamed. He'd been interrupted earlier, and his brain was unsatisfied.

The dude was hot. _Really_ hot. Dean glanced at the caption, wondering if he was some local celebrity who was ambushed at the zoo.

 _Librarian Castiel Novak poses with Suzy, a ball python, during her visit to the library's youth department._

Shit. Witty, intelligent, passionate, considerate, kind…sexy as fuck. And so very, very out of Dean's league. Dean wanted to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N, 7/20: Somehow the wrong copy of this document got uploaded, and it was just a draft.

" _There were three scandals related to 'loose women' in the Topeka capitol building's art. I know about Fideli's dome mural of nude women that got painted over, and I know about Curry's mural with the short-skirted woman. What was the other?_ "

" _Probably Ceres, the statue that was supposed to go on the top ('Capitol dome dispute more than a century in the making,' Lawrence Journal, 6/17/02). State officials chose her because she was the goddess of agriculture, but the public had problems with her love affairs with her brother, Jupiter._ "

" _Wow, shameful. ;) You're the best, as always, and sorry for making you look up ancient Roman smut at work._ "

Dean was doing his best to soldier on, fighting through the disappointing confirmation that the odds of his fantasy romance turning into a real-life connection were microscopic. It had been a hopeless thought anyway, he figured. Cas was a genius, apart from how he looked; there was no way he would ever have been interested in a bartender with only a high school diploma. When flashes of messy dark hair and sharp jawlines shadowed with faint stubble would appear behind Dean's eyes at inopportune moments, he fought them down as hard as he could.

It was a losing battle. He knew he was making it worse by continuing to chat with Cas every Monday night, but he just couldn't make himself stop. Dean figured it was a harmless weakness; loads of people must send questions to the librarian every night, anyway. Even if he himself treasured their messages, it was almost certainly a one-sided enjoyment, with Cas probably having forgotten Dean's name after their rocky misunderstanding had been settled. That thought totally didn't make Dean's chest ache at all, either.

He was standing behind the bar at the Roadhouse one night, definitely not remembering how any librarian had once sent him a cocktail recipe, absolutely not imagining how that librarian might grow deliciously disheveled as they shared a few drinks together, when Jo popped out from the back office.

"Guess what?" she said with a grin. "I got Mom on board with adding a new theme night! Karaoke Wednesdays are working really well, so now we're doing to do trivia on Fridays. Right up your alley, Dean!"

He smiled weakly. "Sure, Jo. You know me and trivia." There really was no other response. If Jo had gotten her mom, who owned the bar, on board with trying something new, there was nothing to do but make it happen, even if he was beginning to feel like trivia was taking over his entire life.

"Charlie told me you've been playing that radio station's trivia every week for ages now. She also told me that you _cheat_ by emailing the library, but that's not going to be an option here. No phones, no laptops, no whatever. We'll do teams, though, and keep a roster of winners, maybe give free drink tokens. You guys and whoever else you can drag here on Friday have to play, okay, just to make sure it goes well at the beginning." That wasn't a question; her arms were folded, and her eyebrows challenged him to say anything other than…

"Yes, ma'am."

And that was how he found himself at a table with Sam, Charlie, and Charlie's girlfriend Gilda the following Friday night, choosing a name for their new team. Charlie and Gilda argued fiercely that their team should be an "information division" of their LARP clan's army, and the guys found the fight too amusing to put up much protest. "Team Moondoor," they became.

Dean decided that he didn't really care what they were called, so long as they played to win. Between the four of them, he thought they had a pretty wide scope of experience, with Sam's current events background, Charlie's science and tech know-how, Gilda's work with service animals, and his own growing familiarity with the world of useless trivia. _Don't need a sexy librarian for this_ , he thought. _This will be a good distraction._

Within the first hour, his predictions about his team's ability to come out on top were proving mostly correct. There were a handful of competitors, including a couple of Sam's newspaper buddies who were calling themselves "Team Fit to Print," but nobody was coming very close to their lead except one group. "Team Fallen Angels" had been neck and neck with them all evening, passing them and being passed with every round. It might have been frustrating, but the adrenaline of a good fight felt refreshing. His group was practically vibrating in their seats between questions.

As the third round ended, Sam headed to the bar to refresh the team's drinks. His long legs were feeling a bit cramped from sitting, and he stretched himself tall as he waited for the bartender to make her way around the crowd to him. A low whistle sounded behind his back, and he turned to see a short blond man perched on a neighboring stool. The man grinned and winked.

"I'd offer to buy you a drink, but I wouldn't want to be accused of sabotaging the competition," the stranger said.

"What, you're playing trivia? Don't tell me you're 'Fallen Angels,'" Sam said with a roll of his eyes. "Let me guess: emphasis on the 'Fallen'?"

"You know it. More fun down below. And I mean that with every possible entendre."

"Whatever, man." Sam saw the mischievous glint in the blond man's eye and knew that it was all part of the game. He was no stranger to smack talk, himself. "Buying me a dozen drinks wouldn't help. We're still going to come out on _top_." This time, he was the one to wink and grin.

"Oh, you think? Baby, we're just getting warmed up. And we're doing it with only half the team power you guys have. Just me and my baby brother. But when that baby brother is a professional librarian, with probably most of the library crammed into his melon, you don't need more."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and what do you bring to the party? Swagger? You can keep your librarian brother. _My_ brother is the reigning champ of KQRC's Monday Madness trivia contest, and he's been the champ for months. Maybe we'll see who's better in a pinch, huh?" Honestly, Sam wasn't at all sure that Dean could best a trained librarian in general knowledge, but he wasn't about to back down from a challenge.

"Well, then. Let the games…continue," The shorter man said with smirk, leaving the bar with a beer in each hand and heading for a booth in the corner. Sam turned back to his task and tried harder to get the bartender's attention so he could get back to his team and play.

* * *

"Hey, Cassie. Your guy who sends you questions at the library, the one who called you Pepper. What night does he send those questions?"

"Monday. Why?" Castiel was slouched in the corner of the booth, resting his chin in his hands. It had been a long day already, starting with a Jane Austen Morning Tea hosted by the Friends of the Library, and he would have preferred to be at home now with a good novel and some popcorn. Gabriel had practically dragged him here to this bar, however, declaring that if his brother could help complete strangers with random questions, he could certainly do the same for his own flesh and blood. Castiel wasn't nearly as good with simple recall as he was when he had all his resources close to hand, but he was doing well enough to have Gabriel snickering with glee.

"I think you're competing against him. Winning, for the moment, so keep it up."

Castiel sat up straight, staring out into the shadowy bar room. Then he felt foolish, realizing that he wouldn't recognize Dean if he saw him. "What on earth makes you think that he's here?"

"I'm pretty sure that the moose I just met at the bar is his brother. Big man, big talk. He's on that 'Moondoor' team, which I know because they've been squealing every time they pass us on the board, and the guy just tried to intimidate me by telling me how his brother has been winning at some radio trivia contest every Monday for the past several months. I've just got a feeling."

"Even if this man's brother does play trivia every Monday, there's nothing to say he's the same man writing to me. It's a radio contest. There are likely to be other competitors." Was it possibly for Dean to have been sitting a few tables away from him all night? Castiel felt a strange sensation in his midsection, for reasons he couldn't explain. He'd definitely begun thinking of Dean as more friend than patron, though only privately, but his enjoyment of the increasingly familiar bantering he enjoyed with him every week didn't justify what felt suspiciously like butterflies in his stomach at the thought of actually meeting Dean in person.

"Little bro, trust me. Are my instincts ever wrong? Hey, if you want, I'll go eavesdrop on them, see if I can catch any names or incriminating details –"

"No. Please don't." Castiel could see this going poorly, very quickly. "I'll…I'll go myself. You just stay here."

"Fine. Hurry back, though. Next round begins in about five minutes." Gabriel leaned back and sipped his beer, gesturing toward a table of four on the far side of the room. Now trapped into action, Castiel stood slowly, gazing toward the group. The butterflies threatened to erupt into his throat as he moved carefully toward them, edging behind the corner of a nearby booth.

* * *

"Okay, guys, we need to pull out all the stops for this round. You'll never believe the jackass I just ran into up at the bar," Sam said, carefully placing drinks in front of his teammates. "One of those 'Fallen Angels' guys, only more like the devil. He was so full of crap, bragging about how they're going to beat us."

"Eh, let 'em try," Dean grinned. He was having a good time, and a little more heat to the rivalry was welcome. "We can take them, no problem."

"That's what I said. That guy thinks that just because his little brother is a librarian, he has all the answers in his head. Doesn't work like that, am I right? Right?"

Gilda was nodding, but Charlie's eyes had immediately shot to Dean's face, seeing it tense suddenly. "Dean," she said, knowing what was about to happen.

"I have to go. I forgot a thing." Dean was completely unprepared for the possibility of coming face to face with his librarian tonight. The mere thought that he'd been competing against _him_ all night immediately shot all his confidence about winning to the ground. _This was a mistake_ , he thought in a panic.

"What? No, dude! I just told that guy we were going to destroy them! You can't leave now!"

Charlie grabbed Dean's hand across the table. "Dean, no. Stay. There's no reason to freak out. Even if it's him, you've never met him in person. He won't know you're you." Gilda stared back and forth between the two of them, obviously confused.

Sam was just as mystified. "Never met who? What the hell are you talking about? Dean, what's going on?" He remained standing beside the booth, blocking Dean from trying to exit.

Dean knew he was being irrational, that Charlie was right. His logical brain, however, wasn't in the driver's seat right now. All of the evening's joy had been replaced with a need to escape being forced to confront directly all the insecurities that had been plaguing him. He didn't _want_ to see Cas there in the bar with him, drinking and laughing and existing inside Dean's world as though perfection was a thing that his world could hold without breaking. It was too much.

"No, I'm going. I'm sorry," Dean said, pushing hard past Sam to slide out of the booth. Sam tried to grab him, worried by the pained look he saw on Dean's face.

"Dean, wait!"

Dean shook free of Sam's grasp, momentarily stumbling to the side. His shoulder collided with something firm, and he heard a surprised grunt before realizing he'd nearly managed to knock down another person. Turning to apologize, he stared directly into a pair of wide blue eyes.

* * *

Standing in shock, chest covered in splashes of the beer he'd been carrying, Castiel stared into the face of the man he nowknew without question was Impala. He'd heard the other people at the table call him "Dean," erasing any doubts he might have had. He could feel Gabriel's eyes watching him from across the room, practically hear him cackling, and he had absolutely no idea what to say.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, frozen in place. Neither of the two men moved an inch. _Green eyes_ , Castiel's brain unhelpfully chose to observe. They were the most fascinating green Castiel thought he'd ever seen, and there were tiny lines around the corners of his eyes that suggested that he was often smiling. He was not smiling now. He looked petrified.

"It's all right. I didn't see you coming this way," Castiel replied, completely confused about how to proceed. He knew he'd never seen Dean in the library; he definitely would have remembered. Dean wouldn't know what he looked like, though, so he had an unfair advantage. Should he introduce himself? This was far from any circumstance in which he'd have preferred to meet Dean. Those green eyes looked positively humiliated, far beyond what bumping into a stranger in a bar should warrant.

"No, I…I shouldn't have been…I should have watched where I was going," Dean mumbled, still staring into Castiel's eyes. He glanced downward briefly, and his already visible discomfort seemed to heighten. "And you're all wet now. Your drink…"

"It was an accident," Castiel tried to reassure him. Seeing Dean this way, in contrast to the confident voice he projected through his text messages and emails, made Castiel feel terribly unhappy. He wanted to fix this, to make Dean smile and laugh, but he had no idea where to begin.

"I'll get you a new drink," Dean abruptly announced, breaking eye contact and practically running for the bar. Castiel stared after him, wondering whether he should follow or stay where he was. He didn't want to make things worse than they already were. Glancing around, he saw that the other three members of Dean's team were watching him with a strange mix of expressions; the taller man looked bewildered, but the women were looking at him with something softer and knowing. He nodded and smiled feebly. Turning to look back at his brother, who had apparently not stopped watching with enjoyment, he saw a server approaching.

"Here, this is from the guy who spilled yours," she said. Castiel quickly looked toward the bar and saw that Dean was gone. He was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Charlie watched the obviously dejected librarian walk back across the room to his table. Witnessing him and Dean stare each other down had been painful; Dean had obviously been star-struck, and Castiel had seemed more than a little dazed by the encounter as well. If only Dean hadn't been in such a complete panic and had been able to work with the situation, she thought that the librarian might even have been open to a bit of flirting.

 _But how would that have worked,_ she mused. _Dean would have had to admit that he already knew who he was, and that he was the one who'd been chatting with him for months. Not weird or stalkery at all._

Nobody felt like competing any more, though Sam was a bit miffed both at having to forfeit to "that jackass Angel" and at Charlie's reluctance to tell him what was going on with Dean. He paid and left, while Charlie decided, upon glimpsing the librarian's continued forlorn expression from across the bar, to make at least a stab at helping. Telling Gilda she'd be right back, Charlie approached Castiel and his brother.

"Hi, I just wanted to say congratulations to you guys. You'll obviously be winning now, what with our team breaking up for the night." She smiled at the men, but only Gabriel smiled back.

"Sorry, my baby brother's spirits have been a bit dampened," he said with a small head shake. "Was good playing against you guys. Maybe we'll do it again some week, if your fourth man comes back."

"Yeah, I think he'll be back." _I hope._ "He just had an emergency at home." Castiel's head lifted, looking up with concern. "I mean, he's fine, everything's okay. Maybe a little embarrassed about crashing into you," she said, offering a friendly smile.

If anything, he looked even more upset. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make him uncomfortable again." He dropped his head into his hands.

"Again?" Charlie cocked her head to the side, beginning to feel a bit suspicious. "When did you –"

"For the love of God. Cassie, I love you, but this drama is beginning to make my brain hurt. I'm doing this for your own good." Gabriel turned to Charlie with a determined expression, ignoring Castiel's small intake of breath. "Just nod if I'm right. You know a man who has been corresponding with a certain librarian on a weekly basis for some time, without ever actually meeting him in person. Correct?"

"Gabriel, please," Castiel begged.

Catching on quickly, Charlie grinned, nodding. "Counterpoint. You know a librarian who's been talking with somebody for a while, too, and maybe that librarian is now a little more familiar with the person in question than the person realizes?"

"The librarian is sitting right here, you know."

"Point to the redhead," Gabriel beamed. "Now, if there were only a way for our semi-anonymous librarian and friend to be brought together and forced to talk like real people…"

"Gabriel, this is none of your business!"

Charlie frowned in thought. "Tricky. Once he reaches this level of awkwardness, hauling my friend out again is difficult. I'm on board, though." She patted Castiel's shoulder comfortingly; he just shook his head and sighed.

"Charlie, you almost ready to go?" Gilda came up beside Charlie and took her hand. Charlie swiftly made introductions, realizing that she had yet to share even her own name. Gabriel shook hands with them both, then pointed at the button on Gilda's jacket. "' _Ask me how my dogs can serve you!_ ' Okay, I'll bite. So long as they don't, anyway."

"Gilda trains dogs as service animals. Some guide dogs for the blind, but also companions for people with all sorts of special needs. Some go to hospitals and care facilities as regular visitors, too. It's amazing work," Charlie said fondly, hugging her girlfriend with one arm.

Gabriel's smile spread slowly across his face as an idea began forming. "Okay, I can work with this."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Last chapter got messed up somehow originally and most of it was missing. If it seemed really short or anything is confusing, you may want to make sure you saw the correct version._

 _By the way, I am a librarian myself; most of these anecdotes and questions are based on situations I or colleagues have experienced!_

Following the disastrous Roadhouse trivia night, Dean had spent the rest of the weekend trying to avoid any moments where conscious thought might remind him of how idiotically he had behaved. Alcohol had only been able to help so much to that end; by Sunday morning, when his hangover was painful enough to make him conclude that he was simply too old for that form of induced amnesia, he decided to work his body into exhaustion instead. He scoured every inch of his kitchen, caught up on lawn work, washed his beloved car, and finally fell into bed after a near-scalding shower, ready to sleep the sleep of the dead for as long as possible.

Unfortunately, that end-point turned out to be just after eight o'clock the next morning, when the phone rang. "Dean?" Charlie said when he answered, sounding slightly flustered. "Are you busy this morning? Tell me you're not busy."

"Why would I tell you that? You'll just tell me that I am now," he grumbled.

"Well, yes, I will. But I need you to say it anyway."

He sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Okay, what do you need?"

"I was supposed to help Gilda with a new service dog program this morning around ten-thirty, but I forgot I had a doctor appointment."

"You okay?" Dean asked in concern.

"Um, yeah. It's…lady problems." Charlie had learned that that explanation was one that most men were willing to accept without asking any questions, on the off-hand risk that she might actually answer them.

"No, no, sure. I understand," Dean immediately replied, much to her satisfaction. "I'll help out however I can, but, Charlie, I'm no good with dogs. What am I supposed to do, here?"

"Don't worry," she assured him. "Gilda will have everything under control."

After he finished the phone call, Dean tried to rouse his still-fatigued body with coffee and breakfast, pulling on a comfortable flannel shirt and pants that he decided wouldn't bother him when they got covered in the inevitable dog hair. Gilda was picking him up in her work van, since, as Charlie had predicted, "we wouldn't want to get fur all over your Baby, of course." Dean's car was definitely a Dog-Free Zone, and he appreciated the girls' foresight.

When Gilda arrived, her van was full of blissed out shagginess and lolling tongues. "Dean, I hope you don't mind, but Lolli has to ride shotgun. She's in training, and we're learning she gets a bit carsick if she can't be by an open window." The golden retriever strapped into a harness in the front passenger seat seemed to grin at the sound of her name. Dean shrugged and climbed into the seat behind the dog, eyeing the other two dogs harnessed next to and behind him. One was another golden, and the other appeared to be mostly a mound of black, brown, and white fur with bright blue eyes.

"That's Lolli's sister, Mabel, beside you," Gilda continued with her introductions. "Mabel's an old pro, so I'm working Lolli beside her to teach her the ropes. Max is the Aussie in the back, and I'll have you holding his leash so I can take the girls. Max knows what he's doing, so you won't have to direct him much, but he can be a stinker sometimes."

"Have you tried switching his food?" Dean cracked. This was a bit outside his comfort zone, so he was joking around to hide his apprehension. _The things I do for Charlie_ , he thought with a grimace.

Gilda grinned and rolled her eyes. "Just don't drop your guard. He likes to play."

"Well, me, too, I suppose. Hey, Max, go easy on me, okay?" He reached back to pat Max hesitantly on the head. He was probably imagining the smirk he thought the dog gave him in return.

As the van headed into the downtown area, Dean began to wonder about some of the details Charlie had been vague in explaining. "So it's a kids' program, right? Letting kids cuddle with them while we supervise?"

"Sort of." Gilda seemed distracted, apparently looking for parking. "It's a new literacy program, 'Tales for Tails.' Children who are struggling with reading sometimes feel better doing it with someone who won't judge them if they make mistakes, so the dogs are a good fit. The kids can sit next to them and read stories, and the dogs make them feel more relaxed and confident."

When Gilda mentioned books and reading, Dean began to get a strange feeling. Surely, Charlie wouldn't be setting him up like that. "Gilda, where is the program being held?" Gilda was quiet. Dean waited, getting increasingly agitated. "Gilda…"

"Okay, look! This was _not_ my idea! Honestly, I don't want to be involved in this at all, especially not with my babies! But Charlie begged, with those big puppy eyes, and you _know_ how she can do that, and now it's too late! The library board approved it, and it's really a good program, or I would never have agreed! There's nothing we can do now. I need to have the dogs in there in ten minutes, and there's no way I can safely handle three leashes, especially not with one dog in training. Dean, I'm really sorry, but please don't be mad at me, and _please_ don't back out!"

Dean closed his eyes as Gilda's apologies washed over him, feeling a bizarre mix of a desire to flee and the urge to stop fighting. They pulled into the library parking lot, Gilda still darting nervous looks back at him, and he sighed and patted her shoulder. "It's all right, not your fault. Gotta say, this goes beyond Charlie's usual schemes. Getting boards involved? She must be upping her game lately."

"Well, she wasn't working alone this time," Gilda muttered.

"What? Who else is in on this?"

"You remember that man who pissed Sam off at the Roadhouse on Trivia Night?"

"Who, the jackass who was bragging about beating us?" _Because he was teamed up with Cas. He was his brother! Could Cas be in on this thing?_ _I can't deal with this_. He rolled his head back onto the headrest. Hot breath puffed against his neck, and a moment later, Max jammed his tongue directly into Dean's ear.

* * *

Castiel watched Gilda and Dean, leading the dogs, were greeted by the youth librarian as they walked into the children's area. He told himself again, for the millionth time, that this was a terrible, terrible idea, and that he was the worst sort of idiot for allowing it to happen.

The problem was that the program itself was undeniably a _good_ idea. Who would have thought that Gabriel would propose a plan in which the core concept was actually likely to be extremely successful for the library? Libraries across the country were doing similar programs, and they were wildly popular. Anything proven to encourage young people to become readers wasn't something Castiel could flatly refuse, no matter how torn he felt about the motivation behind it. And sitting there that night at the bar, looking at the determined faces of the three conspirators (well, two conspirators; Gilda looked as conflicted as he felt), he knew there was little chance he'd be able to have the program without accepting the scheme.

That didn't mean that he had the first idea what to do now that Dean was actually in his library. Charlie and Gabriel had stared at him when he'd brought up that problem, confused as to why their suggestion of "just talk to him!" was likely to be somewhat inadequate.

 _I don't have to do anything at all_ , he thought unhappily. _It's a children's program, and Linda is handling it. There's no real reason for me to go over there, and Dean's not going to come over here, either_. In fact, Dean looked anxious, though it was hard to tell whether that was because of his obvious inexperience handling the large dog currently pulling him forward or because of any other reasons.

Charlie had said that Dean liked him. She had showed admirably loyalty in refusing to divulge too many other details, as frustrating as Castiel had found it at the time, but she had been firm about that fact.

Dean liked him, and apparently Dean was a wonderful person who, Charlie swore, just needed a little help to get over the initial awkwardness and nerves that were standing between them. _Okay, but what about my own nerves?_ Castiel fretted. _How am I qualified to help_ anybody _feel less socially clumsy? I'm the king of Poor People Skills_.

There was a small crowd of children gathered around the dogs, waiting their turns to read. Dean looked a little more relaxed now that the dog he was handling was flopped on the ground beside a young girl instead of attempting to herd stray toddlers. He kept his eyes firmly trained on the dog, either worried about further misbehavior or deliberately trying to avoid glancing toward the reference desk. Castiel, actually standing just behind the corner of a shelf (definitely not "lurking") at the entrance to the adult reading room, had actually left the desk unmanned. He hadn't been providing particularly effective service, anyway, as distracted as he was. He'd finally grabbed a handful of books and was now doing an impression of the world's laziest shelver, frozen in place with book in hand as he stared at Dean and the dog. From this distance, Castiel couldn't see the gorgeous green eyes that had haunted his memories since he first gazed into them, but he imagined that he could see them sparkling as Dean smiled and introduced the dog to the boy next in line. The thought made his knees feel weak.

Child after child sat with the animals, snuggling as they turned pages. On any other day, Castiel would have been reduced to a happy pile of warm fuzzies by now, watching them. Instead, his mind kept recording the passing of time, insisting that if he didn't say something soon, he was going to lose his opportunity. Dean would leave, and he wouldn't be tricked into coming back. Castiel would feel even more frustrated, which would lead to even more tension between them, and it was all going to fall apart if he didn't just _walk across the damn room and say hello_. He ground his teeth. A small boy finished his book, stood, and threw his arms around Dean's knee, and Castiel had to crush down a wave of irrational jealousy.

 _I'm being absolutely ridiculous_ , he decided. _Right now, I'm walking over there. I'm just going to go up to him, smile,_ not _grab his leg, open my mouth, and –_

"Excuse me? Will you help me with the copy machine?"

Castiel blinked, trying to pull his head back into the present. "What?"

A middle-aged woman frowned at him, waving a handful of papers. "I need the copy machine, and it never works right. Come help me."

"I'll be over in just a minute or two," he said, fighting feelings of annoyance. Twisting his head back around, he saw that Dean and Gilda were thanking the last children, and Linda was approaching the pair with a handful of dog treats.

"No, I'm in a hurry. I'm late, and your copy machine always takes forever, and then it messes up and takes my money. I swear, I don't know what my tax money is paying for…"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry," Castiel hurriedly said. _There's no time for this now_. "If you like, I can get an assistant to come work with you –"

"No! You're not doing anything, and I asked you! I don't know why I come in here, you're all so useless, and nothing ever does what it's supposed to do!" The woman, now shouting, had apparently decided to pin every library-related aggravation she'd ever felt on Castiel, and she would not be stopped. "I have no idea why we even have libraries anymore! You could be replaced by Google and a chain bookstore! You should be grateful you even exist, and yet you're just standing around doing nothing! This is nothing but a place for perverts to find internet pornography and lazy bums to get things for free instead of getting a real job! And you won't even – "

"Lady! How about you just shut up and listen?" Castiel, who had been gaping in wordless shock at the onslaught, hadn't even noticed anyone behind him, but the deep, rich voice at his shoulder resounded in his ears with a warmth and fierceness that made him feel suddenly protected. "I don't know what library you've been using, but I've never been anything but amazed at the kind of service this guy provides. I've never thrown a thing at him that he can't handle, and he does it because he loves it, not because he's some kind of mindless computer. Librarians are professionals, not slaves. And if you can't even work a copy machine, then maybe you need to take a look at who the useless one here is, but I bet that if you apologized and asked nicely, this man would _still_ probably take you over there and help you, 'cause that's the kind of person he is."

The woman, now open-mouthed and wide-eyed, looked dazed at the righteous defense of Castiel and his profession. Dean stood tall and assertive beside Castiel, radiating indignation, almost daring the woman to argue back. After a few beats of tense silence, she lowered her eyes and exhaled with a huff.

"I apologize for raising my voice," she said stiffly. "I believe I can assist myself." She turned and left as quickly as wounded pride allowed her to move. Castiel tried very hard not to goggle.

"Hope she won't complain to anybody about that," Dean said in a quieter voice. "If you get in any trouble, I'll take the blame, tell them that she was out of line and I was the one who told her to knock it off, not you." He suddenly looked worried, twisting in his hands the leash he was holding; the dog at the other end was sniffing the carpet, apparently unconcerned.

Castiel cocked his head, recalling the woman's expression. "No, I doubt she'll complain. Too many people were around to hear, and she's probably embarrassed by the scene she made. I do thank you. Confrontations like those are rare, but I don't usually have back-up when they happen."

Dean was smiling at him. Castiel was smiling in return. Neither of them was mentioning that they knew who the other was, let alone addressing that this was the second time they had met face-to-face. A casual observer might have remarked that, as the moment stretched on, the two men had moved beyond "meaningful glance" into "soulful gaze territory. Any such observer, though, was wisely keeping his mouth shut, sensing that the unresolved sexual tension in the air might just be heading toward resolution.

"Hi," Dean finally said, breaking the silence. "Um, I'm Dean."

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said. "I'm Cas—OOF." At that moment, Max chose to demonstrate the validity of Gilda's warning by swiftly and without warning ramming his nose directly into Castiel's crotch. Startled, Castiel stumbled backward, lost his balance, and fell on his ass with a thud that drove the breath from his lungs.

"Max! No!" Dean hauled on the leash, frantically trying to drag the dog off Castiel's chest, where he had jumped to lick at the librarian's face. He looked positively mortified, groaning, "No, no, no," while Castiel spluttered and tried to stand back up. "Gilda, help!" he finally cried.

After Gilda came to the rescue, apologizing profusely and leading the dogs (suddenly now well-behaved) to the van, Castiel found himself staring at Dean's back, where he had been leaning his forehead against the shelf silently. He felt truly awful; yet again, their chance to finally meet and know each other had blown up in catastrophe. "Um, Dean?" The man's shoulders were shaking. Was he…crying? "Dean, are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" Dean said in a strained voice. "First I called you a girl, just because you work at a library, Then I spilled beer on you and ran off, and now I'm molesting you with dogs." He finally turned around and looked Castiel in the face. He wasn't crying; he was shaking with laughter. "Dude, the universe is trying to tell me something. It's either that I need to give up trying before I somehow blow us all up, or that I need to just…get over myself already. Stop freaking out, unbend, and laugh. So, I give up. Here's me laughing. The world wants to drop a bomb on me, whatever. I can take it."

Castiel was unable to resist the infectious laughter punctuating Dean's surrender speech. "You can take it? Based on which of us keeps getting soaked – in beer, in drool – maybe I'm the one who'll need to duck and cover."

They were both laughing in pure relief, the tension and nervousness drained away completely. Finally, Dean wiped his eyes and grinned. "Well, Cas, if we're dodging missiles from the universe, wanna dodge together? You free tonight? I promise, no dogs."

Castiel couldn't have been more emphatic in his acceptance.


	6. Chapter 6

"There's still one part I don't get," Cas said, polishing off the last of the slice of cherry pie Dean had insisted was a crucial part of their meal.

"Oh, yeah? Which part?" Dean leaned back in his seat, appreciating the sight of the gorgeous man across the table thoroughly enjoying his dessert. It had been a perfect evening, particularly in light of the string of mishaps and misunderstandings that had led to it. Amazingly, there had been no first-date awkwardness, which was probably thanks to the fact that they'd gotten it out of their systems already. When you've already embarrassed yourself repeatedly in front of a person, Dean figured, there's not much worse left to worry about.

"Well, the trivia contest," Cas explained. "The one that started this whole thing. You said it was for movie passes, right? And you told Charlie you'd compensate me with concessions candy? How come I never got any of that?"

Dean snorted with amusement. They had both been laughing so much all night that his cheeks were feeling sore. "I thought you were a little old lady back then. You should thank me for caring too much about your blood sugar to just show up with chocolate."

"But I still have all my own teeth! You can bring me Milk Duds without fearing for my dentures." Cas nodded solemnly, lips twitching with a barely suppressed grin.

"I'll just have to bring you extra candy now, or maybe you can choose it yourself at the theater," Dean said. The idea of more dates with Cas made him feel warm and tingly. Images of sitting next to him in a dark movie theater, arm around his shoulders, leaning in close enough to brush his lips behind Cas's ear…Dean's cheeks lit with a blush and he had to tear himself away from his fantasy scenario before his face betrayed his thoughts. The slight lift of the librarian's eyebrow said that perhaps he was a bit too late.

"I'm certainly not opposed to that," Cas replied simply, choosing not to inquire into Dean's sudden color shift. "But I've been helping you for _months_ now. I think we're talking more than a few handfuls of candy at this point. We may be into popcorn territory. Maybe even with extra butter."

"Well, aren't you just Mister High Maintenance?" Dean teased, matching Cas's feigned seriousness. "Popcorn is a major investment, you know."

"But would you even be in the theater if it wasn't for me?" Cas narrowed his eyes playfully.

"Hey, you were a big help, don't get me wrong," Dean chuckled, lifting his beer in a salute to Cas. "But I didn't send you _all_ the questions. I'm a big boy; I can do my own work."

Cas returned the salute with one of his own. "Oh, I don't doubt it. I'm sure you're quite capable."

"Damn right."

"It's just unfortunate that the Roadhouse trivia got cut short, you know, and so I'm really just giving you the benefit of the doubt."

"Hey!"

Castiel smirked, taking a pull from his beer bottle. "And, of course, those were all general knowledge questions, plus you were on a team of four. I only had Gabriel, so apart from the questions about alcohol, desserts, or sex, I was mostly on my own."

Dean was loving this confident, cocky side of his librarian. It reminded him strongly of the self-assured tone he had sensed in the Monday night message bantering. Seeing it in person now was so much better than just imagining it. He was going to give as good as he got, though. "So what you're really saying is that for all your fancy library training and experience, you were pretty much breaking even with a few bar rats? C'mon, Cas, I thought you did this every day." He smirked back.

"As I said, general knowledge questions. _Scire ubi aliquid invenire possis, ea demum maxima pars eruditionis est_." Cas intoned the Latin syllables as though they were a prayer, and Dean had to suppress a groan as his Hot Librarian fantasy gained a new chapter. "Roughly translated, 'To know where to find a thing is the chief part of learning.' When you sent me those questions, I wasn't pulling answers from my ass."

"Hey, no arguments from me there," Dean said. "You are definitely a bad-ass with the research."

Castiel hummed, suddenly thoughtful. "I propose a rematch."

"What, more trivia?"

"More questions, anyway. Hard ones like those you've been sending me. That way we can see who should really be taking whom to the movies."

Dean felt nervous; the glint in Castiel's eye said that he knew exactly how such a rematch would go. "Okay," he stalled, "but we need to make this fair. You have a ton of books and databases and stuff that you can use, and I've got, what, Google? Feeling a bit uneven, here."

Cas reached into his pocket and pulled out a key ring. "The keys to the kingdom. We have the entire library at our disposal. Perks of the position," he said with a satisfied wink.

 _Oh, that's not playing fair at all,_ Dean thought, having visions of an empty library, dimly lit, and a hot librarian in a naughty mood. "I…uh, I can agree to that."

* * *

"There are a number of quiz books there in the 030s. I can't possibly have memorized any of them, but I'll let you pick one from which we can draw the questions." Cas gestured toward the shelf. The library echoed with their voices, making Dean feel as though they should be whispering and walking on tiptoe, but Cas was comfortable in his element. He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, ready to get down to business; Dean shivered, wondering just how aware Cas was of the effect he was having.

He grabbed a nearby volume. "'World Quizzing Championship Questions.' Ten questions, you think? First one finished is declared the winner."

"That sounds reasonable."

"But you know this place better than I do," Dean said. "You know where all the subjects are without having to look them up. How about this: you take the print materials, and I'll use the computer."

Castiel frowned in suspicion. "Dean, that's a sizable handicap."

"I know, but, hey, you're still the librarian. I'll give you those things over there, too."

"You mean the microfilm readers?" Cas chuckled. "All right, fine. It'll be more competitive this way. More satisfying to win, too."

"And what's the prize, other than bragging rights?" Dean felt his pulse beginning to race in eager anticipation.

Cas took the quiz book and began flipping the pages. "Well, we might have a few leftover Summer Reading Program tote bags," he deadpanned. "But I'm sure we can come up with something better than that, if we think about it."

The questions were chosen by Dean picking ten page numbers, followed by Castiel choosing a number that corresponded to a question on that page. Once the pages were bookmarked, they grinned at each other for a moment, then turned to the first question and read. _"What do the death of Abraham Lincoln, the sinking of the Titanic, and the Chernobyl nuclear disaster have in common?_ " A moment later, they were off.

Cas seemed to know exactly where to go, moving with determination and control, and Dean had to remind himself that this was a competition, so he should really stop staring at the way Cas stretched high for an almanac on the top shelf, back muscles evident under the thin white cotton of his shirt. Running a hand over his face and trying to clear his head, he focused on the screen in front of him. He might not be a librarian, but he'd had a few friends who had taught him some tricks about how to get around the internet and find what he wanted to know. _Thanks, Charlie,_ he thought as he dove into the Stanford University digital library, to which she had easily constructed a "VIP access pass" a couple of years ago.

A moment before he'd found the answer ("They were all in April!"), Cas was scribbling his solution on a paper and grabbing for the next question. "Just a bit too slow, Dean. Is the pen mightier than the Siri?"

"It ain't over 'til it's over!" Dean shouted, forgetting to whisper.

* * *

Castiel was having the time of his life.

He was dashing from shelf to shelf, fingers flying over the pages, pushing himself as he hadn't had to do since grad school. Beyond the thrill of the contest, though, was the way it seemed to both ease and concentrate the tension between himself and Dean. Gone were any lingering traces of nervous hesitancy; now the energy between them had transformed into a heady struggle for power that made his soul vibrate. Cas wanted to _win_ , wanted to _dominate_ , wanted to have Dean on his knees in submission…well, metaphorically. Or not. Well.

" _Name the 13_ _th_ _century collection of over 1,000 songs, poems, and plays on topics of love, decadence, and faith. Provide the words to verse 12 of song 70_."

Oh, that was hard. Obviously, the collection was the Carmina Burana, but he was almost positive he had no complete compilation here in the library. He could try searching, in the hope that some book would happen to reference the particular song, or…Cas glanced at Dean, then felt the lump of his cell phone in his pocket. The temptation was strong, but he decided that winning that way wasn't winning at all. He would play fair.

Dean, meanwhile, was having a similar struggle with himself. Cas had grabbed the question book several times ahead of him, and Dean feared he'd never be able to make up the lost ground. It was becoming apparent that a quick wit and a give-'em-hell attitude wasn't quite going to measure up to experience and training in this case. He wasn't ready to admit defeat, though. Scanning the room, he saw that Cas was in the far corner, paging through a pile of heavy old tomes. Crossing his fingers that he wouldn't be caught, Dean pulled out his phone and fired off a text message.

 _"Frank, buddy, you around?"_

 _"What would be in it for me if I was?"_ Frank, an old friend of the family, was always grouchy and didn't beat around the point.

 _"Free drinks next time I'm tending. No time to explain, but I need to know the name and code name of whatever double agent faked an attack on a mosquito factory in World War II. No, I don't know what that means, hope you do."_

 _"You mean the Mosquito bomber plane? What do they teach you kids in school these days? It was Eddie Chapman, British secret service agent posing as a Nazi spy. They called him Zigzag on account of how he was a wild-card conman. I'll be at the Roadhouse on Thursday; make sure the top shelf is stocked."_

Dean felt a twinge of conscience as he copied down the answer, but he rationalized it away, telling himself that he would have found the answer in another minute, anyway. Cas was still digging through his piles.

* * *

The race was frantic. Castiel lost most of his headway in his search for the elusive song verse, but the triumph he felt at discovering it in the appendix of a Latin anthology that he had almost weeded from the collection last year made him feel that the effort was worth the cost. Now, searching for the last answer alongside Dean, he decided that whether he won or lost, he felt happier than he could recall feeling in a long time.

"I've got it! _The Thirty-Nine Steps_ , by John Buchan!" Dean threw down his pencil and thrust his hands into the air as he jumped up and strutted around the desk. "Yes!"

"I graciously concede the victory," said Castiel, smiling broadly as he ran his tired hands through his hair, now extremely disheveled from the number of times he'd done so throughout the evening. "If I'd had access to all of my resources, I still think I'd have come out on top, but rules are rules, and you won, fair and square."

Dean couldn't repress a fidget. "Yep. Fair and square." His smirk faltered the tiniest bit. Cas didn't miss the slip.

"Dean? Is there something I should know?"

"Um. We said I was using the computer, right?" Castiel nodded, waiting and feeling wary. "And, well, my phone is a computer, right? So I did technically follow the rules…"

"Dean. Tell me you didn't text another librarian for an answer."

"No! Not a librarian! Just…my friend Frank." Dean bowed his head and looked so sheepish and ashamed that Castiel had to fight to maintain his severe expression. It would never do to let him think that such blatant cheating was going to be acceptable, particularly not when he himself had chosen to resist that urge. But the flush rising along Dean's neck was so damn irresistible that Cas just wanted to reach out and grab it to feel the warmth.

"Well. It seems we have a dilemma," he said slowly. "It doesn't seem quite correct that you should be declared the winner, since you had outside assistance. In some races, you'd perhaps be penalized for that." He felt his stern mask cracking as desire warred with exasperation and won handily. "Made to stand in place while the race continued, forced to remain still. You'd be at the mercy of those you defied; you would stay…where…you…are."

With those last words, Cas advanced on Dean, eyes dark with intention. Dean's head had lifted, his own eyes gone wide, but nothing about his expression said that he was at all unhappy about the situation. He licked lips that suddenly seemed dry, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"Dean." Cas lowered his voice beneath its usual gravelly baritone, noting the small whimper that barely escaped Dean's throat as he did. He put his one hand on Dean's chest, gently but deliberately walking him backward until his back was against the shelf. "Do you remember the question about the song from the Carmina Burana?"

Dean shook his head slightly before nodding. "Latin words," he murmured.

"' _In trutina mentis dubia fluctuant contraria lascivus amor et pudicitia_ ,'" Castiel rumbled, lips almost touching Dean's ear. He felt the shudder of the man's chest close to his own, and he felt almost intoxicated with the power he was holding, the way Dean seemed happy to give that power to him. He ran his hand slowly across Dean's chest as he finished the verse. "' _Sed eligo quod video, collum iugo prebeo: ad iugum tamen suave transeo_.'"

Dean couldn't hold back a groan as Castiel's fingers found a nipple and tweaked it through the cotton. "You're giving me a Latin kink." Cas chuckled and began using both hands to play gently with the hem of Dean's shirt.

"And do you know what it means?" he said, fingers finding flesh and beginning to stroke gentle circles. Dean gasped and shook his head again. "It's a love song. The singer says, 'In the wavering balance of my feelings, set against each other are lascivious love and modesty.'" Dean's eyelids, which had lowered as Cas had traced patterns above his hips, shot upwards as, without preamble, his shirt was abruptly yanked upward. A hot mouth pressed itself to his sternum, and he cried out.

"Cas! Fuck!" Both Dean's hands grasped for Castiel's hair, gripping and twisting as his lips found their way along his breastbone. He groaned and threw back his head, dislodging a book behind it. Cas glanced up, pulling back slightly.

"Be careful of the books, Dean." Then he returned to his task, slowly licking and kissing his way down Dean's abdomen.

"This…does not feel like any kind of penalty, man. Ah!" Dean gasped as the librarian's hands moved from his hips to his ass, gripping hard.

"The person being punished does not choose the forfeit," Cas said. "And your penalty is to _not move_." He yanked at Dean's buckle, pulling it free, before pausing briefly over the button of his jeans. Glancing at Dean's face, he felt a moment of hesitation. "Is this all right?" he said, needing to make sure he wasn't being swept away by the heat of the moment into something for which the other man wasn't ready.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Trust me, I've been 'all right' with this since you brought up the skirt thing. I've only gotten more 'all right' ever since."

Castiel grinned. "Good." Uncertainty gone, he swiftly opened Dean's fly and reached in, palming his cock through his boxers. The rigid heat felt almost scalding against his hand.

"Cas," Dean moaned, trying to reach for Castiel's pants. Cas pushed away Dean's hands, grabbing his wrists and pressing them to the shelf over his head. His eyebrows lifted in challenge, and Dean clenched his jaw in visible effort to obey. Satisfied, Cas released his hold and used both hands to push Dean's jeans and boxers down to pool around his ankles.

Dropping to his knees, he stroked Dean firmly, gazing upward with an angelic expression of sweetness. "The songwriter made his choice. 'But I choose what I see, and _submit_ my neck to the yoke.'" He bent his head and licked a wet stripe from the base of Dean's cock to the tip, then spoke again, finishing the verse. "'I yield to the sweet yoke.'" And then he was taking Dean deep into his throat, teaching Dean the very definition of submission.

Cas was merciless, making Dean tremble and shake as he swallowed around him, then pulling back to give almost gentle licks around the head that had Dean begging for more. Finally, when Dean seemed in danger of knocking the bookshelf over with his juddering movements, despite his efforts to keep still as directed, Cas stood and dragged him into a rough kiss. "We'll call the contest a draw," he said. "You are free to move."

Eagerly, Dean grabbed at Cas's hips, rushing to have Cas free of the fabric between them. In moments, he had them both bare, and he wrapped his hand around both cocks. The slickness of saliva and the combined precome they were both spilling created a delicious slide in the tunnel of Dean's fist, and they were gasping together, lips claiming each other, as they chased a shared climax. Dean came with a shout that only barely resembled Castiel's name, and it was enough to push Cas over the edge behind him.

Sliding to the floor together, slowly regaining coherency, it was several minutes before Castiel was able to look around and laugh. Dean, arms gripping tight around Cas's shoulders, looked up in question. "What's so funny?"

"We're in the religion section, and I'm going to have to make sure none of the books got stains on them."

Dean snorted. "Well, I think I just had a religious experience, so it's sort of appropriate." They grinned at each other. Then, strangely hesitant considering the circumstances, Dean said, "You know, I really wouldn't have texted another librarian for help. It would feel weird and wrong. I think I might be a one-librarian kind of guy."

Cas kissed his neck and smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. Maybe the analogy doesn't quite work in reverse, but I can assure you that you are the only patron to whom I'm interested in giving this level of service."

They found each other's lips once more, bathed in the soft glow of "Exit" lights and the warm feelings of new beginnings.

 _A/N: The questions were all adapted from sample "World Quizzing Championship" questions and from the King William's College General Knowledge Paper. The idea of "books vs. computer" came from the way a fellow librarian and I used to actually pass the time on boring evening shifts, racing to see which of us could find patron answers first, me on the computer or him with the reference books. I miss that game._

 _I'm on Tumblr as Carrieosity; come find m_ e.


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